


Ribbit Ribbit

by BloodyAbattoir



Category: Original Work
Genre: Frogs, Gen, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: "I must say, this is the strangest request I've heard in quite some time."
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Ribbit Ribbit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frobster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frobster/gifts).



"I must say, that's the strangest request I've heard in quite some time." The witch says, peering at you curiously over the top of her teacup. You drop your gaze, studying the intricate lace spread across the table intently. Now that you thought about it, she was likely right. It seems that she has come to the same realization as you had. "Normally, people are begging me _not_ to turn them into a frog." 

You stifle a giggle, and she raises an eyebrow at you. "I want to be frog- _sized,_ not an actual frog!" 

"Oh. I see." There is an awkward silence. "That certainly makes more sense." 

Then again, how bad could living as a frog possibly be? Wallowing in mud all day, no student loan debt... It certainly was an appealing thought the more that you thought about it. 

From across the table, the witch clears her throat, and by the tone of her voice, you can tell that she is almost as nervous as you were when you walked in the door, shortly after walking _into_ the door. "Now what exactly are you planning on doing shrunken down this small? A heist, perhaps? Something exciting?" 

"Nope, I just want to be able to hug a frog!" 

"You want to... hug a frog?" The witch asks, looking more and more perplexed by the minute. You nod vigorously, grinning ear to ear. She looks you up and down, doubtlessly trying to determine what variety of illicit substances you were on, but you appear to pass her scrutiny as several tense seconds later, she heaves a sigh and says, "Fine. I may have something for you." 

She gets up and leaves the table. You can hear the gentle clinking of glass in the next room, accompanied by muttering. You're so full of energy that you can barely sit still. Several minutes later, she returns, a shot glass of liquid in hand. You reach out to take it, but she shakes her head at you, knocking back the swirling amber liquid with a grimace as you look on at horror. 

"What? It's just whiskey. You can't _possibly_ expect me to witness your idiocy fully sober." One hand dips into the generous pocket of the robe that she wore, no doubt a dressing gown, returning with a tiny vial with a label written in such tiny, spidery script that you can't understand it. You take it, and look at it curiously. The dark green glass catches the light and practically sparkles as you turn it over carefully. "I drink this?" 

"No, you stick it up your arse." She retorts sarcastically. Witnessing the shock on your face, she adds, softer this time, "Of course you drink it. It'll wear off in a couple hours, mind you." 

You stare at her dubiously before you swallow the contents of the bottle. It tastes like the smell of the outdoors after it's rained, and fizzes and bubbles from the time it hits your mouth until it hits your stomach, spreading a warm feeling through you. For a moment, nothing happens. The witch is watching you with undisguised glee in her eyes, and not for the first time, you worry that perhaps you've bitten off more than you can chew. 

Then, you are unable to think any further as you she starts to grow larger. The edge of the table comes up above your field of vision. You are shrinking. 

Several minutes after swallowing the contents of the bottle, you are the approximate size of a child's toy. The witch plucks you up by the back of the shirt, holding you carefully in her claws as she brings you to eye level. You flash a thumbs up and nod as best you can. She nods back, carrying you through the curtain at the back of the room. You catch sight of several other rooms, some with the door closed, before she enters one. 

It's a sunroom of some sort, with glass walls and plants galore. What catches your eye, however, is the massive tank in the corner, full of branches and what looks to be suspiciously like a dead log. She lifts off the top of the tank, dropping you carefully onto the log, right before a massive frog. Well, massive to your perspective. If you were a normal size, this frog would've been about the size of your fist. Now, however, it may as well be a large dog. 

You laugh with glee, and give it a pat on the head, causing it to let out a happy 'ribbit'. 

  
"I'll be back to get you in an hour." the witch says. Even though she speaks at just above a whisper, it's almost painfully loud for your tiny eardrums. 

A month later will find you returning to visit the witch, a fresh bottle of whiskey in hand. It has become a weekly ritual for the two of you, bizarre but comforting nonetheless. 


End file.
